


Perfect Aim, Perfect Shot

by BouncyBrittonie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Archery, Barebacking, Bottom Thranduil, Foreplay, M/M, PWP, Rough Sex, Top Bard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:16:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3276386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BouncyBrittonie/pseuds/BouncyBrittonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'The quiver was full, and Bard took three arrows into his fingers, and Thranduil knew that this was the final seduction.'</p>
<p>Based off the prompt: I just need so many fics about Thranduil and Bard getting really hot and desperate over the way the other uses a sword/bow. Like watching the exquisite mastery of their weapon and just wanting to get bent over the next available surface and fucked hard after they’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time thinking about the other’s prowess in battle.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Aim, Perfect Shot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thepizzasitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepizzasitter/gifts).



Mirkwood had many places to hide, and Thranduil knew all of them. He knew the places that were the best for feasting, for thinking, for planning. For an ambush, training, for rest. And he knew the places that they would never be found. And never be heard.

The King of the Woodland Realms was just about beside himself, but you would never know it.

He was lounging on blankets in the branches of a tree, woven together with song into a platform long ago, looking just like a creature of pure comfort. Free of his long flowing gowns in favour for clothing more subtle for exploring. Strong legs were covered with skin tight breeches, soft leather boots, and his chest and rear clothed with a short green tunic, tied loosely with golden thread. His weapons discarded at the base of the tree. Bard had pulled his impossibly long hair into a plait earlier that morning, and Thranduil almost purred at the memory of strong fingers raking through his locks.

But his lover's skilful hands were currently occupied.

Thranduil wasn't sure if he should have been jealous of the bow in the hands of his dragon slayer, but he knew that the display was just for him.

Bard had stripped off, only left in his trousers and his boots, and Thranduil was able to drink his fill of sun kissed skin and muscles built from hard labour and training.

The Bowman's back was laced with scars, from a jealous Master, a nasty whipping for a loose tongue, and the elf thought in satisfaction that the man was dead. But the scars brought character, and Bard wore them with pride whenever he was in Thranduil's presence, for there were marks on his own skin that he kept hidden, only that his lover had seen.

The hair that covered Bard's skin was an indulgence to the Elf King; it was dark and coarse and set the dark man off as such an exotic beauty. He loved the feel of it under his fingers, and he curled up his hands in longing. His eyes followed the trail lazily, from his chest to his stomach and down to his hips, where the waistband rested low and he could just imagine where the trail ended. Thranduil had returned the favour on Bard's hair that morning, and had braided the curly locks behind his ears, before tying it up with a leather from the King's wrist.

Bard's body just about shone in the afternoon sunlight, he was covered in a light sheen of sweat, and makeshift targets sat around the outskirts of the small clearing, dotted with arrows, their marks precise.

"May I use the rest of your arrows, my Lord? I promise this will be the last of my practice."

Bard's tone was teasing, for he never used such polite words to address Thranduil when they were in such private quarters. The Elf King swallowed thickly, before gesturing with a wave of his hand to the quiver that sat at the base of his tree.

The quiver was full, and Bard took three arrows into his fingers, and Thranduil knew that this was the final seduction.

A handful of targets were left, little bits of wood left in hard to reach places, and in the blink of an eye, they were pierced, and Thranduil just sat back and watched, heat pooling in the deepest pit of his stomach.

He was fast, that matching the skill and the swiftness of an elf, but with a roughness that made Thranduil's blood sing. He took another three arrows and at close range, shot them deep into the thick trunk of the tree where the Elf King rested. A make shift path up high.

With a tuck and a roll, the last four arrows were tucked into fingers, and he shot his last three targets, before spinning, and firing his arrow right at Thranduil's head.

Thranduil felt the rush of air and the thud of the wood at his back, and he felt the arrow neatly land beside his head. Not a hair on his head was knocked out of place. The blonde's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed with arousal, excitement and just a touch of danger. He would always trust Bard with his life.

With a smirk and a flourish, the Bowman ran at the tree, launching himself off the forest floor and scaling the thick trunk in light movements with the help of his recently shot arrows.

The soles of Bard's boots hit the wooden platform with a thud, and Thranduil sighed, pressing himself further against the wood at his back, lifting his chin up high to bare his throat as he watched his bowman stalk across the platform towards him.

Bard stopped, stepping his feet over Thranduil, one boot on either side of the Elf King's thighs, and he sank down, sitting himself upon the blonde's lap. With his bow still in one hand, the other trailed calloused fingers up the Elf's neck, before caressing the shaft of the arrow at his head, and with a powerful tug, wrenched the projectile from the trunk of the tree.

With careful eyes, he inspected the arrow head, finding it intact, before directing his gaze down to his bow. He sat back on his heels, and with slow, well-practiced movements, slipped the arrow into the bow. Thranduil watched the muscles in Bard's arms and chest tense, as he used his formidable strength to draw the bow back. He settled his slim hands onto the waistband of Bard's pants, fingers stroking the tanned skin, and the Dragon slayer caught his lover's eye, smiling, winking, and releasing the arrow.

Of course, the arrow hit its mark, right through another, and split the latter arrow in two.

To say that Thranduil was aroused, would be an understatement.

Bard took Thranduil into his arms, and with a twist, laid the elf down upon the platform, where he was finally able to notice the tell-tale signs of his undoing. Eyes wide and dark, almost no blue left in them, he cheeks were flushed and the blush reached up to the tips of his ears. His lips were wet, and his chest heaved like the elf had just been on a run.

"Oh, my love, you are exquisite."

Thranduil slipped his arms around Bard, drawing him down to rest fully against his body. "Lle naa curucuar." He murmured, hands now able to feel the pleasure of firm skin beneath his palms. "I am made helpless by your display, however will I manage being at the mercies of your most skilled hands?"

Bard smiled a devious smile, using deft fingers to slowly undo the ties on Thranduil's tunic, parting the fabric to reveal a body like finely chiselled marble. He traced a path over strong muscles and a flat stomach, before pressing a hand to the rock hard arousal beneath the Elf King's trousers.

"Well, then my skilled hands will have to take you apart, my Lord."

That was about all it took, and Thranduil was crying out in pleasure as rough lips abused his neck and deft hands just about ripped through the material of his breeches. Well-manicured nailed scrambled at the skin on Bard's back, leaving angry red marks in his wake, and he arched, so the Dragon slayer could tear away the fabric from his rear.

Thranduil pressed his hips up to clash with Bard's, feeling the red hot pulse of the man's arousal, and he paused, a shiver of pleasure taking over the bowman's whole body.

For as graceful as Bard was with his archery, Thranduil was more so, and he took advantage of the opportunity to roll them both in the blankets, so he took his rightful place on top. He discarded his tunic, and slipped his hands beneath himself to undo the lace of Bard's trousers.

The King of Dale lay back, watching the show with eyes shining with passion and love. It was just for him, all for him. Thranduil looked simply ethereal in the sunlight, skin as pale as the driven snow, and his hair like spun gold. On his knees, with his breeches in tatters around his hips, but the material still clung to his legs, and his boots still gave him good leverage on the ground. His shaft hung heavily, straight as an arrow and glistening with pearls of arousal at the tip. He looked like some vision from the most heated of dreams. 

With the strength of a warrior, and the proportions of a dancer, he was more perfect than any creature that he had ever seen. He had not seen such beauty since his wife, and even though she was becoming a memory, he was sure that she would approve. Thranduil slipped a hand into Bard's pocket, withdrawing a clear vial, before sliding his hand into the front of his lover's trousers, a hot hand wrapping around the molten steel of his erection.

Cool slick enveloped the heat of his arousal, and he whined like he had been struck. The contrast in temperatures made his blood seem to boil, his composure threatening to break, but Thranduil tightened his fist at the base of his cock and held off the flood. 

"You are doing so well, do not come for me yet, my darling. Aiya! Nae saian luume'." And chose this moment to sink himself fully onto Bard in one firm stroke.

Thranduil almost howled at the feeling, it was too soon and he had not prepared himself, but he couldn't give a damn about the pain, he simply needed himself full, he needed his lover back home. Rough hands ran soothing paths up and down his sides, trembling as he raised his knees behind his lovers back, giving Thranduil a place to rest, before taking his hands between his own, pressing shaky kisses against the pale skin.

Then a hardened hand took the Elf's slender erection, and Thranduil felt the pleasure like electricity up his spine.

Bard's hips pumped blindly, short shallow thrusts that drove the Elf King mad. His breath came in sharp pants, and he bit down hard on the inside of his mouth to try and keep the need to release at bay. It was such foreplay, showing off for his King, and he had been half hard ever since he picked up his bow that morning. It was one thing to be a physical beauty, and the bowman was certainly grateful that Thranduil found him so welcoming to the eyes, but it was another to enrapture the Elf King with a skill he had worked his whole life to perfect.

Releasing the shaft within his palm, which earned him a whine of lost pleasure, the human sat up, wrapping an arm around Thranduil's slim waist, the other reaching up to stroke at golden hair, tracing the outline of a pointed ear. He smiled and bit his lip as the elf clenched around him, his muscles clenching from the little jolts of pleasure.

"You should have let me prepare you, Thran, I can tell you are hurting, you won't be able to sit comfortably for days."

Thranduil's eyes were stormy with passion, and he pressed himself closer to Bard, pressing his erection into the strong muscles of his bowman's stomach. He locked eyes with his lover, and raised himself up slowly before letting himself drop back down in a savage thrust that made Bard shout out loud, his jaw dropping, gasping for breath. The elf's hot breath was in his ear, and his voice was such a low rumble that it made him think very bad thoughts indeed.

"Elves heal quickly, rwalaer, give me something to ache about."

Bard just about snarled, feeling the last shred of control fade away, before sinking his teeth into the junction of Thranduil's neck and shoulder, and the elf could just hold on for the ride.

He let the overwhelming need to thrust take over his instincts, and he took Thranduil as rough and as passionate as the elf needed. Quick, hard thrusts, then slow, shallow presses that made his love take control, shoving him to the blankets with two firm hands on his chest.

"Ba-aard. Oh please please please."

Thranduil threw his head back, riding him hard, baring his neck and Bard's earlier marks, and it was too much for the man to bear. To see such signs of ownership and passion on his lover's body. He owned this beautiful creature's soul and body and mind, and it was almost too much of a privilege for a lowly man such as him. Even though Thranduil owned him in return.

He fumbled for the discarded vial of clear liquid, managing to get some onto his palm before he took his elf's shaft into his hand and stroked him to completion.

"Release for me, my darling, come."

Thranduil's movements stuttered, and he was torn between thrusting down onto Bard's hardness and up into the heat of his lover's palm. The heat and the pressure and the pleasure of it made his head swim, and all he could do was yell out as it all became too much. It started deep down in his chest, little noises as he rode the waves of Bard's thrusts, but it grew louder and louder until he was crying out with every movement. Eyelids at half mast, locked with Bard's and the tell-tale sparkle of silver magic clouding around his eyes.

It was the most stunning vision that Bard had ever seen, and he released into Thranduil's body with gasp and a sob.

The Elf King fell forward into Bard's waiting arms, and he held Thranduil as he came, feeling the warmth of his release coating their stomach's.

It took a long time for them to come back to reality. Bard had slipped out of Thranduil's fully sated body, and had cleaned them up with a spare piece of cloth, before removing his own ruined trousers, leaving himself gloriously naked. The Elf King lay spread out upon the blankets, once again playing the part of a sleepy house cat. He seemed almost drunk off of pleasure, and just about purred as Bard slipped him out of his tattered breeches, and long boots.

Bard then flopped down with as little grace as possible, stretching out his sore muscles and groaning in pleasure as Thranduil pressed himself flush against the bowman's side. He wrapped his arms around the Elf King, who just about melted into his embrace.

And he closed his eyes to the peace of the forest, listening to the chirps and hums of all the hidden creatures, and the slow rise and fall of their chests. The butterflies in his stomach stirring as he felt the King's hand trail up to rest over his own heart. 

Bard smiled, pressing his own hand over Thranduil's, and they fell asleep, dozing in the late afternoon sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Lle naa curucuar - You are a skillful bowman  
> Aiya! Nae saian luume' - Ah! It has been too long.
> 
> I haven't written any type of smut in over two years. Please be kind!


End file.
